Saturday night we hung out with a group of our kinky friends watching bad 80’s movies. One of us loves rope as much as I love pirates and she was working through various limb restraints. At one point she had bound each of Ashley’s hands separately, and there were loose ends on each wrist. I playfully grabbed the ends and Ashley pulled her hands free from me. I held on because deep down I apparently am a ten year old boy who doesn’t like toys taken away.
Before long, our rope friend was binding my wrists to Ashley’s. I was sitting on the couch and she was sitting on the floor. Ashley started to pull with all her strength and I just sat there on the couch, not giving any ground. Every once in awhile I would pull her closer to me to show that I could. It wasn’t easy and I could feel my muscles straining, but it was clear I was just stronger than her.
There was just something primitively fun in that game. Ashley pulled and strained and all she succeeded in doing was making her breasts jiggle delightfully. Being physically stronger than someone is something that nice sensitive men don’t brag about but I couldn’t help feel that surge of supremacy. Woman, you can struggle, but I am stronger than you. You can pull and fight, but you can’t move me. And if you can’t move me, maybe I can use my strength in other more delicious ways. Wouldn’t that just be terrible?
Eventually my wife picked a side and tickled my ribs. I lost my concentration and Ashley pulled me to the floor. There was a funny moment when I was about to plunge into Ashley breasts that I realized that losing wasn’t so bad, but I was able to stop myself. Now I have these rope burns on my wrists that give me all sorts of story ideas.
Plus, I have one more reason to go to the fitness center this morning.